The Ethics of Romanticism
by upticks
Summary: She couldn't do it - she couldn't push Booth away just like everyone else. Just like sully. but oh, she ached for him. But why was she so adverse to the idea then? BB, OneShot.


**A/N: Yet another take on the one and only Temperance Brennan's mind. I'd be very honoured if you read it and review it.**

**Note: Crossposted to LiveJournal under laurawrrz.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own them. If I did, I'd be busy filming episodes right now, not writing fanfiction.**

No. She couldn't do this. She couldn't. He leant over her ever so slightly, his eyes blazing with something she couldn't quite pick out with her analytical mind, which was only good in the lab, staring at long-dead skeletons with no real emotions, no real desires. She was no good when it came to those. She could tell he was fearful though - fearful over what he was trying to do, though she hadn't picked up his intent yet, both of them sitting on his old, squishy sofa as they were.

She got a little hint when his arm slid round the side of the couch, grabbing her waist and slowly pulling it closer towards him, pulling her towards him. Oh. Right. She suddenly went into panic mode, her suddenly racing heart-beat unevenly blasting through her chest, a small sweat breaking out on her forehead. His intent was clear now - as clear as it had ever been. She had known all along that being alongside him was flirting with an eventual commitment of sorts, barging in to another person's life and then ruining it like they didn't deserve.

And as much as she had wanted to do several extremely un decent and certainly not G-Rated things with Booth, her attitude towards those things had changed very much once she was put into the spotlight. It was rather like a case of stage fright, except so, so much worse.

She wriggled out of his ever-tightening grip, mumbling something about them working together, the line he had drawn with Cam, and that she needed a drink. She must have shown her shock and condemnation on her face though - because he was recoiling like he had just been slapped straight in the face. She could feel the blood rushing to her face, and she quickly got off the couch, rushing into his small, standard-unit kitchen. She couldn't bear to look at him.

In the small kitchen that mainly consisted of a fridge, a microwave, and the occasional family picture of Parker hung to the wall, she calmed down a little bit - the hyperventilating and her heart pumping in her ears stopped. She could somewhat string a sentence again, though they were hardly coherent.

She couldn't do it, she couldn't. Every time she let somebody into her life in the romantical aspect, she pushed them away eventually. She couldn't handle commitment - the whole fiber of her being seemed to shy away from it. The old nightmares of abandonment always came back when somebody ended up being too much to her. And the guilt of abandoning the other to her was easier to cope with than the nightmares.

She couldn't do that to booth - she couldn't push him away, he had already meant too much to her as a friend. But he wanted more, and she didn't honestly know if she had enough of a being left to give what he wanted - her morality had all but rotted away when it came to anything but finding the truth about murdered victims.

She hadn't kept track of the time she had spent panicking, mulling her thoughts over in his kitchen, and jumped when she heard him advancing to the room, probably in a haze of rejection. Grabbing the kitchen countertop with her hands, leaning forwards over it, hair hanging over her face, she tried to block everything out. This wasn't happening. She wasn't going to become that monster again. She wasn't going to hurt Booth anymore.

He seemed to have recovered from the 'incident' on the couch, he was once again wrapping his arms around her, whispering soothing words in her ear, trying to turn her body to face him, not the kitchen appliances. Surely, he could offer her more love and devotion than a twenty dollar toaster?

His fingers ran through her hair, trying to slow her breathing down, to calm her, even though he knew that he himself was the reason for her stress. "That better?" he smirked, as she turned her head upwards to him, finally having made her decision.

The repercussions could come back to bite her later. Now, all she could focus on was him, her, and the space between. For although what she knew best was bones and skeletons, she wasn't that bad in the bedroom either, though she had the ethics of romanticism all wrong.

Because when you're in love, nothing else matters. There ARE no repercussions, at least not until you break up. But they didn't look like they'd be doing that any time soon, did they?

**Hope you liked it. Also, please review if you have the time. It only takes a few minutes at most, and all you need is a few words. But every review makes the author's day, constructive or not. So I'd really appreciate it if you gave just a minute or so out of your day. I'll be forever in your debt. Thanks.**


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